


Catching Up With The Fastball

by Jack (BaraFrance)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, he gets a tag, it's not a huge part but scout causes himself pain in order to feel so i guess that's. yeah., not about dell. but hes a big part so, tavish and his wife are there too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaraFrance/pseuds/Jack
Summary: A young man who's life has been defined by his own two legs and his ability to use them finds himself crippled after an accident, having everything he thought he could be stripped away. With the help of an odd but kind doctor, he learns to live again, one agonizingly slow step at a time.





	1. Wind-Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first longfic ever. I hope the pacing is okay. Any sort of input would be appreciated, of course, and the whole thing will be cross-posted with my tumblr, onwednesdayswewritefics
> 
> Will update every Saturday night, ideally.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’m helpless, clinging to a little bit of spine. they rush me, telling me i’m running out of time.

People were talking above Jeremy, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. A man’s voice, and his mother’s. But it was dark, and he was tired.

Then he was outside, and the wind was on his face. He didn’t know where he was, but he was running, and that alone made him happy. The burn in his legs, the stretch of his lungs, the cooling sweat on his face. There didn’t seem to be anything around--just desert, as far as he could see. That was okay, though. Plenty of space to run, and that’s all he needed.

Usually all he had was the local Y’s track. It was nice, the team was nice, and he loved it, but it wasn’t the same. It was the city, and they didn’t have this kind of space. That’s the one thing he’d always hated about the city, was the space to run--or rather, the lack of it. But here, that’s all there was.

It was quiet. Wait--scratch that, there was something beeping. Rhythmic beeping. Soft at first, but swelling sharper and louder as the voice of his mother filtered in on the crisp desert breeze.

His mom sounded worried. But it was getting dark, and he hadn’t stopped running, but somehow he faded back into the blackness of sleep.

Now he was in the grocery store. The list in his hand was written in Ma’s swirling handwriting, and he’d checked most of it off. Then he was in line, and his Ma in her blue uniform polo was smiling behind the counter at him. The beeping was back, sharp and painful in his ears. Wait--She wasn’t smiling, and there was a big guy leaning on the counter next to her. Jeremy remembered her saying some guy had been bugging her at work. His fists clenched. He heard his mother gasp, and run off, but she was still in front of him, looking uncomfortable about this guy, so Jeremy ignored it, and went up to him. He opened his mouth to tell the guy off, but his mouth wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t speak. He heard more voices--another man, but the voice wasn’t as gruff as this douchebag’s, and a woman, and his Ma, sounding worried.

Everything was white, then. Bright. A big, bright light. He wanted to squint, but it didn’t lessen, but it also didn’t last long before it disappeared, and there was nothing.

The next time he came to, he couldn’t hold his eyes open long--just a flutter, trying to open them, but he wasn’t strong enough, and then he slept again, and he was gone.

He leaned forward on the slightly-sticky counter of Porkey’s Weeniepalooza, jabbing his finger against the button with a picture of a double-weenie on it. His uniform was, as always, a bright yellow shirt with red stripes on either side, and a hat with a big hot dog on top. He worked it pretty well, though. He gave a smirk and a wink to the pretty girl as he handed her the double-weenie, and she totally giggled, because he was an _expert_ at flirting, especially while wearing a weenie hat. She opened her mouth and he found himself focused on her cute, cupid-heart lips, but the noise that came out was a shrill, rhythmic beep. He frowned, and looked away.

When he finally came back to himself, he was alone, and it was quiet. He let his eyes stay closed for a while longer, watching the bright spots dance behind his eyelids from the fluorescent lights above until he had the strength to open them and keep them focused. It was quiet, save for the rhythmic beep of the machines.

That felt familiar, at least.

People always talk about the view of stark white ceilings from hospital beds, but Jeremy thought it looked more… gray. Sort of like the ceilings of the old high school he used to go to. Cleaner, of course, and it didn’t have any gross stains from the roof leaking, but similar.

He couldn’t remember why he was in the hospital, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that’s where he was. He’d been here a few times before, for broken legs or arms or noses, but he’d never woken up here. Judging by how his entire body ached, though, he must have done something stupid. There was an IV in his arm and a monitor beeping at his side, which probably would have made him nervous, if it hadn’t been for whatever meds the bag was pumping into his arm. He was grateful for them, though. The aches were dull, but since he could still feel them, he was sure they’d be much worse unaided.

Eventually he gathered the will to lean his head up the bit it took to glance around the room--the bed was bent so he was half-sitting up already, but it still required a little bend of his neck. There was his Ma, passed out in a chair in the corner. She had a bruise on her cheek and some scratches on her arms, and if she didn’t look so exhausted he’d wake her up just to ask what happened and who he had to beat for it. The little windowsill had a vase with flowers in it, which were a little wilted. Maybe they were a decoration in all the rooms--who would send him _flowers_?

Outside his window, the noontime sun cast light down on the city. It would’ve been hard to tell the time from inside, though, with the fluorescent lights keeping the room stark and clinical. Jeremy never liked hospitals. They usually meant he’d lost, though what sort of fight he’d lost this time he didn’t know. Last he’d remembered he was… driving Ma down to her second job. Maybe he’d finally run into that sleazeball who’d been bugging her at work. He thought he remembered seeing the guy. Hopefully he looked worse than Jeremy felt, if that was the case.

He also didn’t like doctors, but that was more… well, not _fear_. He wasn’t _afraid_ of doctors. Just... uncomfortable around them. And his stomach flopped a little bit when the nurse said she had to go get the doctor, after she got his weight and stuff, and then when the doctor walked in, he wanted to leave the room, and go home, and sit in his room, with the door locked. But it wasn’t _fear_. Definitely not.

Letting his head flop back down to the bed, he made the conscious decision to go back to sleep. He only got to act upon this decision for less than a minute more before the door opened, and a nurse scurried in, flanked with another nurse and a man in a long white coat. Jeremy opened one eye to look at them, but he was too tired to do much more.

One nurse, the blonde one, moved to attend to the machines by his side, scribbling something on a clipboard. The other nurse, brunette, moved across the room to gently shake his Ma awake. She looked up groggily before jumping out of her chair, and Jeremy noticed a cast on her arm for the first time. He opened his other eye to look closer and make sure, but the man filled his vision instead.

“Hello?” Jeremy wrinkled his nose a bit. He had a weird accent and smelled like the chemicals that the dead frogs had been soaked in back in high school. A little less rotten frog smell, but that lingering alcohol scent. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, a’course I can hear you.” His tongue felt heavy, and his mouth was dry. Talking was a little harder than he’d expected. He was more tired than he thought.

The doctor’s eyes were piercing, drilling into him. He felt sweat prickle the back of his neck. “What’s your name?”

Shouldn’t the doctor know this? “Jeremy.” The way the older man looked over his glasses at him was unnerving. He had his hands folded behind his back, nodding thoughtfully. Jeremy spared a glance to the nurses--blonde clipboard nurse seemed to be writing his answers down on her board, now, and brunette nurse was holding Ma’s hand. Ma looked scared.

“Good.” The doctor clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Age?”

“25.” His Ma looked proud that he got that one right, too. Why wouldn’t he know how old he was? Maybe this was a weird dream.

The doctor’s voice snapped him to attention again. “Do you know the date?”

“Huh? Yeah, it’s March, uh.” Well, Ma and him worked the same time on Tuesdays. He’d driven her to work in his uniform, so that must be what day it was. “Tuesday. March, uh, 28th.”

“It’s April 5th. Jeremy, you’ve been unconscious for a week or so. Do you remember what happened?”

Jeremy blinked. A week? “Did I fall and hit my head?”

The doctor looked up at blonde nurse. Jeremy looked between them. Did he say something wrong? The nurse’s scrubs were an odd shade of yellow.

“Just tell us what you remember, darlin’,” she said. Usually he liked every girl in the room, but he didn’t like her. He didn’t like her, or her odd yellow, or her false sympathy that he didn’t want.

“I was drivin’ Ma to work down at the Kroger’s. It was Tuesday, so I had ta drive her there, ‘cause I needed the car to go to my shift at Porkey’s.” He couldn’t keep his eyes in one place. He glanced up to his Ma. She had her hands over her mouth, looking like she was about to cry. Brunette was gently rubbing her back. “I don’t… remember gettin’ ta Porkey’s, though. Figure I musta, like… gotten into a scrap before I got there.”

“Jeremy.” Jeremy looked back over to the doctor when his name was said. He had black hair, with white at the temples. Little curl in front. “You don’t remember getting to… _Porkey’s…_ because you never got there.” He said the restaurant’s name like it was foreign, or stupid. Maybe both. “You never even got to Kroger’s.” He had a shirt and tie on under his doctor lab coat thing, which was weird. “On March 28th, a large pickup truck t-boned your car on the driver’s side.” Jeremy found the knot of his tie easier to focus on than his face. “Your mother had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, and got out of the wreck with just a broken arm and several hairline fractures.” It was a nice shade of red, and tucked into a vest. “You were found unconscious, and had to be removed from the vehicle with the jaws of life.” The vest wasn’t white, but it wasn’t not white either. Sort of like a cream. “You were rushed here, and we treated your injuries.” His shirt was tucked into his pants, which wasn’t surprising, but Jeremy was running out of outfit to focus on. “But you didn’t wake up, so you were placed on monitor for the last week.” Now his eyes were on the sheets. They were also not white, but not _not_ white. “Your brain scans came back alright. Just a concussion.”

Oh, the doctor stopped talking. Jeremy wasn’t sure what to say. The doctor laid a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up--his gloves were thick, and bright red, and went to his elbows, which Jeremy thought was also abnormal, but he had more important things to be thinking about at the moment. “We’ve given you a lot to think about, Jeremy. Do you have any questions?”

Jeremy blinked. “Uh. A couple, but…” He glanced over to his mother, and the doctor seemed to understand, stepping back. Brunette didn’t get a chance to step back, since the armful of woman she had more or less shoved her off to get to her son’s side. With her arms wrapped around him, he relaxed a bit, and smiled. “Hey, Ma.”

She was crying a little, stroking his hair. “Hello, baby. How are ya feelin’?”

“Alright. Uh… fuzzy. Are you okay?” For the first time, he realised there was gauze wrapped around his head. He felt her hand, then it was gone, then it was back. He didn’t like the interruption.

“Am _I_ okay? Baby, I am _fine_. I’ve been so worried about you.”

He leaned against her, sighing, and glanced over to the staff again. The doctor looked a little uncomfortable, motioning to the nurse. He seemed to be asking if they should leave or not. Brunette wanted to leave them to it, but Blonde kept pointing to the clipboard. Jeremy cleared his throat to get their attention. “I do have one question.”

“Ah, yes?”

“What was wrong with me?”

The doctor blinked. “Um. How so?”

“Like, what injuries did I have? I can’t really feel my legs.” He glanced down to the rumpled blankets covering his lower half. “What, are they both broken? I can work with one cast, but I dunno about two…”

For the first time since the nurses came in, there was silence. His Ma looked at the doctor, who looked at the nurses, who looked at the doctor, who looked at Jeremy. After a moment passed, the doctor cleared his throat.

“Well, you had a head injury. Likely hit your head against the car window. Several cracked ribs, like your mother. A dislocated shoulder, and more than a few lacerations. As for your legs…” He paused. He’d seemed pretty emotionless so far, but now his face seemed… regretful? “I’m… I’m sorry, Jeremy. We tried--myself personally, as well as several doctors in the trauma bay--we tried as hard as we could. Hours.”

Jeremy’s heart dropped. “Tried...?”

“We weren’t able to save your legs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summary lyrics from Hold Me Down, by Halsey.


	2. Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is all that we have planned, choices taken from our hands. finally this fades to stand alone. my mind is a runaway, and I find it too hard to breathe.
> 
> Jeremy doesn't have legs, and no one seems to understand his life is over. The doctor doesn't make it better, but he makes it different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accents are hard. I don't write them, but I don't want you to forget they're there, because I love them, so I just mention them a lot.
> 
> This chapter is early because I'll be away from the computer on Saturday.

Jeremy’s hands felt the rough fabric of bandage again. Thick, but not so thick that he couldn’t feel the pressure of his grip on the wounds underneath. With a palm on each side of his thigh, his fingers could touch on the top and bottom. That wasn’t new, but as he slid his hands lower, the flesh of his leg tapered away to nothing. Right above where his left knee should be. He still had his right knee, but the flesh tapered off a few inches below that, too. Thinking about it, he pressed his hands a bit harder.

He wasn’t really feeling it yet. Well--he was _feeling_ it, as much as the drugs would allow, but it didn’t… feel _real_. Maybe he would still wake up. He ran his hands back up to the top of the bandages, pressing a little harder than maybe he should. It had been a couple days since he’d woken up, so they’d cut back his drugs. He probably wasn’t doing any more damage, or it’d hurt a lot more. Plus, the small sparks of pain grounded him. He felt like he wasn’t blinking enough.

“Oh, Baby.” He hadn’t heard his Ma’s heels clicking down the hallway like usual, but then, he was sort of distracted. She dropped the bag of food she’d brought on the small side-table that had replaced his heart monitor before walking over to the side of his bed. Her small, manicured hands grabbed his wrists, and he let her move them from his leg--his _stump_ , rather--and back to his lap.

He looked up at her face as she moved the blanket to cover up to his hips, and it took him a few moment to focus his eyes. “Oh, hey Ma.”

“Jeremy… How are you feelin’?” She had her hands on his again, both of them holding one. Well, sort of--one hand was still in her arm cast, so it was like one hand held his, and the other was just grabbing at it with her fingers. But the intent was there.

He shrugged. She sighed.

“I brought ya some lunch. Fried chicken, your favourite…!”

He glanced over to it and nodded.

“Thanks, Ma.”

She stood and watched him for a moment more before sighing and squeezing his hand.

“Oh, Jer-bear…”

They stood there together for a bit, silent. Jeremy always felt a little better when she was there, but not… a _lot_. He hasn’t felt a lot of anything, for the past few days since he woke up. After a few moments, though, his stomach made a noise, and his mother smiled, reaching over to the bag and pulling out a drumstick.

He took it with a weak smile and started eating, and she pushed away from the bed. She wandered over to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting the sunlight in--Jeremy looked paler than usual, with heavy dark bags under his eyes. His hair stuck up in every direction, and he was looking at his chicken like he was looking through it. Like he barely even tasted it.

She sighed again, the sight pulling at her heart as much as what she was about to tell him. “...Hey, Jer?”

“Hmm?” Jeremy looked up at her, mouth full.

“You know you’re… gonna be here for a bit.” He didn’t say anything, mouth full, so she continued. “And hospitals cost money, after all, so--”

Jeremy’s eyes widened as she spoke, and he swallowed quickly to respond. “If we can’t afford it, Ma, I can just--get better at home, or somethin’, I don’t--”

“Oh, now, hush, Jeremy, lemmie finish!” He frowned, but fell quiet. “It’s taken care of, don’t you worry. We got a little insurance from the Kroger’s, you know, and the rest of it is paid for with a couple’a loans an’ a couple’a credit cards.” Her accent drew out the word _cahds_ in a way that always made him want to smile. Her accent had always been stronger than his. “But, you know, you won’t be workin’ for a while, and I gotta start payin’ shit back pretty soon, so I’m gonna be pickin’ up a couple’a extra shifts, maybe even a third job…”

“Aw, Ma, no…” She already had two jobs, both retail bullshit. She always seemed so _tired_.

“No, no, I can handle it, it’s no problem. Nicky’s been hangin’ around, helpin’ out a bit, so maybe he wouldn’ mind chippin’ in…” Nicky was Jeremy’s brother, the one closest to him in age. Still a few years older, but he lived nearby and didn’t have any kids yet. “Bottom line is, we’ll make it work. But I won’t be able to come around an’ visit as much as I have been.” She looked at him with… concern. Not pity, legitimate concern. “Are you gonna be okay, Jer-bear?”

God. This was all his fault--he’d gotten them _both_ into an accident, and now because of _him_ , his Ma had to get _another_ job and _more_ shifts. “Yeah, Ma, whatever you need’ta do. I’ll be fine.” He’d probably lose his job, too, missing so much time--if he even could’ve kept doing it at all, now that he was a cripple. He wished he could do more for her, but...

“Are ya sure?” She went back over to rub his back, and he nodded. He needed to do whatever he could to make her life easier, and one of those things was trying to keep her from worrying. That was the least he could do.

“Yeah. I’m just sorry you gotta go through all this shit…”

“Don’t worry about me, honey. We’ll be fine. Just focus on gettin’ better, okay?”

There really didn’t seem to be any road towards _better_ \--legs didn’t _regrow_ , after all--but he smiled and nodded for her.

 

 ---

 

There were forty-seven tiles on the ceiling of Jeremy’s room. He’d counted them three times. Wait, was it forty-seven or forty-eight? Had he counted the half-tiles as one each or added them in as halves?

Well. Better count them again.

At tile number seventeen and a half, since he was counting half-tiles as halves now, the door of his room opened. He didn’t look away from the ceiling tiles to look at them, lest he lose count.

“Good afternoon, Jeremy,” his visitor chimed. It was the doctor again, judging by his weird accent. Something European. “How are you feeling today?” It was a harsh accent. Not very good for a doctor, he thought. “Jeremy?” And he had trouble pronouncing the letter ‘R’. Which made saying his name sound kind of weird. “Jeremy.” It was too guttural, like he was putting too much spit into it? Or making it too round, or something, but he wasn’t sure how a sound could be round--

A big red-gloved hand filled his vision and snapped a few times, which was kind of impressive with said gloves, and it startled Jeremy out of his reverie. He looked over to the doctor, who was frowning down at him. “Oh, hey Doc.”

“Hello, Jeremy.” He pushed his little glasses up his nose with one finger, his other hand holding a clipboard. “How are you feeling today?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t have legs.”

“I mean. No, I suppose not. I guess we can just go through the list, then.” He walked across the room to grab the one chair, and dragged it over to sit down next to the bed. Jeremy sat up as the doctor continued. “How does your head feel?”

“A little fuzzy, I guess, and it hurts over here,” Jeremy waved a hand idly around the left side of his head.

“Alright. Are you seeing alright?” Jeremy nodded. “Hearing?” Again, Jeremy nodded. “Good, good.” He paused, scribbling on his clipboard. “Now, I’ve noticed you haven’t been eating very much.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Not real hungry, I guess.”

The doctor hummed. “Feeling sick to your stomach?”

“Nah.” He looked over to the food his mother had brought earlier. He’d only eaten the one drumstick. It was okay, but eating didn’t really feel worth the effort.

“...She said that was your favourite,” the doctor pointed out, his pen pointing towards the uneaten chicken. “She was very excited to bring it up to you.”

“Yeah. She’s a good Ma.”

There was a small stretch of silence before the doctor put his pen down on the board. “You may feel better if you eat, you know.”

“I feel fine.”

“You know, it’s okay _not_ to feel fine.”

Jeremy felt a hand on his shoulder, and frowned, still staring away from the doctor, at the chicken. “Good to know. Still fine.”

The doctor sighed. “It’s completely normal.” Jeremy continued to look away from him, so he stood. “Well, alright. I’ll be back before nightfall to check on you again. And if you decide you do want to talk, just press this button.” He held up the device attached to the bed and pointed to the green button as he spoke. “The red one is for if you believe yourself to be dying. The yellow one is for nurses, if you are hungry or need something… changed, or whatever. Green gets me, for non-emergencies.” Another beat of silence passed before the doctor put it back down and moved to walk out.

“Hey, Doc?”

“Hm?” He turned his head to look at his patient, one eyebrow raised.

“You got a name, or should I just keep callin’ you Doc?”

The doctor chuckled. “You may continue to call me Doc if you wish, but my name is Dr. Ludwig.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor chuckled as he walked out of the room.

 

\---

 

Over the hours spent sitting alone in his room, Jeremy had begun to enjoy the feeling of massaging his stitches through the bandages. The one on his head was convenient to reach, but only two stitches, and not as fleshy. His legs, though, had a satisfying squish when he pressed it, and a white-hot pain that made him feel real, though whether he wanted to feel real or not he still wasn’t sure.

This wasn’t the life he’d wanted.

As his thumbnail dug under a stitch, he found himself thinking about the life he had, now. The first thing that came to mind was the track team. It was just the local rec team, yeah, but it was something he enjoyed--maybe the _only_ thing he enjoyed, now that he thought about it. He loved the people, he loved flirting with the coach, even if she clearly wasn’t interested, he loved joking with the team and listening to the old-timers and playing with the kids. He loved competing with them, getting faster, making them proud. He loved their smiles at the finish line of the sprint and their jokes about his hurdle jumps.

But more than all that, he loved… the _track_. It was stupid, but god, that patchy plot of grass with its plain black oval of asphalt, that felt like home. Even when the team wasn’t meeting, that’s where he went whenever he was upset, or confused, or mad, or… _happy_. He went there after work and in the morning when he woke up, to clear his head or relax his body or simply to feel the pliant old track give _just slightly_ under his feet, to feel the impact shudder up through his calves and his knees to his hips and his heart. The smog on his face. If he went fast enough, it felt like fresh air.

His thumb dug in harder. He wouldn’t be doing that any more. He couldn’t feel anything in his feet or calves or left knee any more, for one thing, but he wasn’t stupid, either. They could barely afford to keep him alive, there was no way they’d be able to get him prosthetics. Even if they could, it took years to learn how to walk on them, much less run, and he wasn’t exactly the best student. He could barely learn arithmetic, how could he re-learn walking?

Jeremy was torn from his thoughts as he felt wetness under his thumb, and looking down, he saw that he’d torn some bandage with his nail. He also noticed that said bandage was bloody, as was his thumb. He hurriedly wiped his thumb off on the bandage to clear the evidence, covered his lower half again with his blankets, and grabbed the remote attached to his bed. Red is emergencies, which this definitely wasn’t, but he didn’t like the nurse, or her fake smile or her fake face. He pushed the green button, then, and dropped the remote back into its tray before settling into bed.

No one came for a few minutes, and Jeremy had almost nodded off by the time the door opened and Doc came in, white coat fluttering behind him. “Jeremy--did you need something?”

The boy blinked a few times before sitting up. “Yeah, uh… My leg hurts. Was just sleepin’ and it, uh. You know. Started hurtin’, so…”

As he spoke, the doctor walked over to his bedside and threw the blankets away from his legs. Jeremy’s hands immediately went to hold his gown down in front of him, for some sort of modesty’s sake, and Doc failed to suppress his eye roll. “Jeremy, please. You had a catheter in for a week, do you think that happened magically?”

Jeremy felt his face heat as he looked away, definitely not pouting. The doctor chuckled, briefly, but fell quiet when he saw his patient’s leg.

“You are bleeding quite heavily again,” he pointed out, pulling the chair back over so he could get a closer look.

“Yeah. Dunno how that happened.”

The doctor began to unwind the bandages, and his frown deepened. “Your last stitch is nearly torn free entirely…”

“Rough sleeper.”

“...Indeed. Well.” He put a lot of emphasis on the word _well_ , but it didn’t sound right. Like _vell_. “Try to stay awake while I am gone. I need to get a few things in order to fix this.”  

“Right on, Doc.” Jeremy folded his hands behind his head. Admittedly, he did almost fall back asleep before the doctor returned, but his eyes snapped open again with the loud click of his boots.

“Sit still, please.” His demeanor seemed clipped, this time, like he was irritated. He had a tray with him, and when he sat again, Jeremy saw a long curved needle. It was spooky looking.

“Wow, that thing’s spooky lookin’,” he said.

“Indeed,” the doctor agreed absently, threading the needle. He wiped it down with a wet wipe, and wiped Jeremy’s wound with another, which stung a little, but Jeremy didn’t say anything about it.

Doc pushed some stuff around in his wound, which felt weird, and then thrust the needle into his flesh with no further preamble or anesthetic. Jeremy did yelp, this time, right hand moving up to his mouth so he could dig his buck teeth into it. He felt the flesh tug against the metal, and the rough fibers of the stitch pull through the hole it left, inch by inch. Centimetre by centimetre. After what felt like an eternity, the fiber reached its knot, and pulled taut. Jeremy whimpered. Then the doctor did it all again, to make another stitch, and Jeremy dug his teeth into his hand even harder.

Then, with a snip, it was done. “There you are. All better. Just need to bandage it up again. Oh, and, let me see your hand. I need to check your pulse.”

Panting slightly, Jeremy did as told, but the doctor didn’t check his pulse. He tugged Jeremy forward roughly, bringing the hand--Jeremy’s left, since the right was in his mouth--up towards his own face, with a look of anger on his face. Even Jeremy had to admit, it was… scary.

“There is blood under your thumb nail,” the doctor pointed out dismissively, before releasing the hand and allowing the boy to collapse back into bed. He retrieved a roll of gauze from his tray and began to re-bandage the wound before continuing. “Stitches do not come out easily, Jeremy. I can recognise a self-destructive injury when I see one.”

Jeremy was quiet. What could he say to that? It wasn’t often he was so bluntly called out.

“You called me before any serious damage could be done, though. I see you do not wish to prolong your stay, or to… _procure_ more drugs from me. So why?”

The doctor didn’t look at him when he spoke, focusing on his task. It was a little weird, but it made Jeremy more comfortable, somehow. The Doc was still waiting for an answer, though, and any doubt Jeremy had about that fact was dispelled by the glance he got from the corner of the doctor’s eye. “...I dunno. It felt good, I guess.”

They were both quiet until Dr. Ludwig finished his task, and put his tools back on his tray. Then he looked Jeremy in the eye, serious but no longer scary, with Jeremy’s blood still warm on his gloves.

“No one expects this to be easy for you, Jeremy. You have lost a part of your body. It _should_ be difficult. But talking may make it easier.” He gave a gentle pat to the leg he’d just bandaged, leaving a small smear of red on the pristine white bandages. “If nothing else, tearing out your stitches will not. It will just make it scar worse.”

Jeremy stayed quiet, chewing his lip, avoiding eye contact. The doctor’s hand on his leg was warm, and large, and the pressure was… nice. Different from his own pressure. He couldn’t explain it. But he felt it, perhaps more so than he’d felt the pain of pulling out his own stitch, radiating through the layers of fabric to loosely grip his newly acquired deficiency. Warm. Real. Comfortable.

A few moments passed without anything being said. Jeremy looked up to see the doctor still looking at him, with a pointed expression. It wasn’t invasive, though, or irritated as it had been before. Almost friendly. A few more moments passed before he spoke.

“...Doc?”

“Yes, Jeremy?”

Another beat passed. “Uh... Where’s your accent from?”

The doctor smiled. “Germany. Stuttgart, to be exact.” He patted Jeremy’s leg before standing, warm hand leaving Jeremy’s leg, picking up his tray to take with him as he left. He continued to speak, even as he walked away. “I imagine being cooped in this room all day must be boring. Tomorrow morning I will bring by a wheelchair and show you around the hospital, if you’d like.” He glanced over his shoulder to gauge Jeremy’s response.

Deep down, he didn’t really want to do _anything_. But something about the doctor interested him, from his weird accent to his rapidly cycling facial expressions to his warm hands. He was strange and scary, but… “Yeah, alright. Sure thing, Doc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to read this fic, y'all. Comments and criticisms are always welcome, and as always, cross-posting and conversations available on tumblr at onwednesdayswewritefics.
> 
> (summary lyrics are from Growing Pains, by Birdy.)


	3. Whiff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> broken mornings, broken nights, and broken days in between. open ground, the sky is open, makes an open sea.
> 
> There's really nothing to live for, any more. But there is lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> missed a week already, y'all
> 
> but like in all seriousness thank you all for commenting? if it wasn't for commenters I probably would have used that missed week as an excuse to just quit. I probably won't actually answer most of them because I don't know what to say, and it makes me anxious, but like, rest assured. Every single one makes me like stupid happy.

“This is the common area,” Dr. Ludwig introduced, pushing a wheelchair full of Jeremy through a pair of swinging doors. The walls and floors were white, just like all the walls and floors, but they’d tried to make it a bit homier with a seafoam area rug. There were some couches, and some tables, and some bookshelves, and a TV. “You can come here whenever you like, once you are more... mobile. Or call a nurse to help you into a chair.”

There it was. Jeremy sighed, leaning back in the chair again. There was no respite from the constant reminders of his new disability.

“I suppose you could grab some books and take them back to your room, as well, if you wanted?” the Doc suggested. He was trying, to his credit. 

“Not much of a reader.” Jeremy glanced over to the TV. “Could come in and watch some stuff, though. What day is it?”

“Hmm? It’s Friday. Why?” The Doc wheeled his chair over by the couches and handed him the remote.

“The Sox play the Jays tonight and tomorrow. I guess I could watch that.”

“You like baseball?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Yeah. I tried to get the rec center to start a baseball team, but not enough people were interested.” He flipped the game on. The Red Sox were up by six. There was a familiar spark of excitement in his chest, but smaller than before, and as he watched the men run the bases, it faded back to the inky black suction that he’d been feeling there lately.

“I have never understood sports,” Dr. Ludwig admitted, taking a seat on the couch. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

“...Yeah. I could’ve, maybe.” He watched the players--his heroes, the men he’d aspired to be as a child--for a few moments more. He felt the Doctor’s eyes boring into the side of his face, so he tried his best not to betray any emotion as he turned the set off and tossed the remote to him. “Well. We should finish the tour, right?”

“Hm. Yes, I suppose.” Doc stood, brushed some imaginary dust off his pants, and moved behind Jeremy’s chair to roll him away. “This is a good place to socialize, as well. It may help you feel better.”

“How many times do I gotta say I feel fine? As soon as my legs heal up I can roll on home, Doc.”

“What about prosthetics?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Can’t afford ‘em. I’m sure there’s someplace that’ll hire me in this chair, yeah?”

The doctor was quiet for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip. “...Well. Perhaps put a bit more thought into the possibility. We work with insurance plans and have some affordable payment options. But you have time to discuss these things with your mother.”

“I don’t gotta discuss it with Ma, neither. I’m an adult, you know. You been treatin’ me like a baby all this time, but it ain’t ‘cause I can’t take care of myself--”

“I know, Jeremy, I know.” He patted the boy on his shoulder, and Jeremy deflated a bit. “It’s just my job, is all.”

Jeremy turned his head to watch the rooms go by. They were in a different wing of the hospital, headed towards some other room--so far, they’d seen the waiting room, the ER (well, the doors to the ER, anyway, since they weren’t allowed inside), the morgue (doors again), and the common room. He wasn’t sure how much more there could be to see. It had been more fun than sitting in his room all day, at least.

“These rooms are really nice,” he pointed out. 

The Doctor hummed. “Yes. This is the cancer wing. Sort of our ‘pride and joy,’ they say.”

“You don’t sound so proud and joyful, Doc.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, this isn’t my area. I think there’s too much money here and not enough everywhere else, but, eh, hospital politics.” They slowed to a stop in front of an elevator, and the Doctor pushed a button.

“Wait, these rooms all got flatscreen TV’s in ‘em!”

“Hospital politics,” the Doctor repeated, exasperation in his voice.

“Well fuck dat,” Jeremy huffed, and the Doctor laughed.

The elevator dinged, and the two men boarded it and rode skyward.

 

\---

 

Turns out, the doctor was leading him to an unused operating theatre. He stopped Jeremy’s wheelchair by the door and allowed him to steer it himself, walking across the wide open room to look over the instruments. There was a little sparkle in his eye that his patient hadn’t seen before.

Jeremy followed behind him, albeit slower since he was still getting used to wheeling himself, and peeked up to see what he was looking at.

“What’re those?”

The Doc shrugged. “Medical tools. I doubt you’d want to hear me explain all of them.”

“Well you can explain some,” Jeremy prodded. “I’ll stop you when I get bored.”

Doc hesitated, but acquiesed after a few moments under Jeremy’s gaze. “Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with a scalpel,” he started, holding the tool in question up for a moment. “Then there’s the clamps, which are, you know... Clamps. They hold things.”

“What sort’a things gotta be clamped in an operating room?”

“Well, skin. You need something to hold it back and away. Sometimes you use them to hold wounds closed.”

“Ew.”

Doc giggled, which wasn’t a word Jeremy expected to apply to a man like the Doc, but it was cuter than a chuckle and smaller than a laugh. He also hadn’t expected to think the Doc cute, but the smile on his face definitely was.

“You’ve seen this before,” he said as he held up a curved needle. “It’s curved to make sewing flesh easier. Then this,” he held up what looked like a tiny pair of scissors, but with very tiny dulled blades, “is a pair of forceps. For grabbing.” Next he held up a fork with curved tines. “Retractor. For pulling fleshy bits aside. I prefer to use my fingers, but sometimes the space is too small, you know, to stick a finger in there, so you need something smaller to put in...”

Jeremy smiled a little at the Doctor’s enthusiasm, even if it was a bit... weird. He couldn’t imagine putting his fingers in a person’s organs, but Doc seemed to enjoy doing it.

He rummaged around in the drawers, humming. “Suction tubes pull blood out of the way,” he explained, “and--oh! Here are the bone drills!” He pulled out an intimidating looking device, grinning over at Jeremy. 

Jeremy gave him a hesitant smile back. “You really dig this stuff, huh?”

Doc gave a hum, shrugging as he put the drill away. “Well, yes. I do. Surgery is my specialty. I sometimes wish I could do it more, but that’s not really a thing you can say to patients, is it?” He laughed, with a bit of a strange edge to it. Jeremy felt like he should probably be afraid of it, but he wasn’t. He laughed along with the Doctor, and he actually  _ felt  _ like smiling, for real.

“Hmmm. Yes, well. Are you hungry, Jeremy?”

“Huh? Uh, I guess I could eat.” He shrugged. “Not... You don’t have somethin’ squirreled away in here, do ya?”

The Doc laughed again, and it brought another small smile to Jeremy’s face. “No, no, of course not. I did think we could have lunch together, though. If you’d like?”

Jeremy shrugged again. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way, Doc.”

 

\---

 

Lunch was... well, not  _ terrible _ . It reminded Jeremy of high school cafeteria lunches: once-frozen chicken patties on almost-expired buns, with slightly soggy french fries and juice, not soda. 

“I miss soda,” Jeremy lamented, looking at the juice can with a longing frown. 

“You’ve only been awake for a few days without it,” Doc pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I usually drink, like, three a day.”

“That’s... terrible for your health. It will rot your organs from the inside and your teeth from your head, not to mention what the caffeine is doing to your heart--”

“Yeah, yeah, well. Somethin’s gotta kill me, right?” Jeremy shrugged, sipping his juice.

Doc just frowned. “I suppose we all have our vices,” he acquiesced. 

“Even you, Doc?” Jeremy smirked, and Doc rolled his eyes.

“Yes, even me.” His patient wiggled his eyebrows, and he scoffed. “I doubt you really want to hear about what sort of habits I’ve acquired over the years. I’d rather talk about you, actually.” Jeremy seemed to deflate a little, but Doc pushed forward nonetheless. “What does your mother do? I haven’t seen her come by as often as she used to.”

Jeremy gave an owlish blink, taken off-guard by the question. “Oh. I thought you were gonna talk about, like... medical stuff. Like my legs or whatever.” Doc shrugged. “Well, uh. She works at Kroger’s most, and also at Sears, but she had to get an extra job and a few more shifts to pay for...” He waved his hand vaguely. “What, you into my Ma?”

Doc snorted. “Not at all. I just was wondering where she’d gone, is all. Any siblings?”

“Seven, actually.” At the doctor’s surprised look, Jeremy laughed. “They’re all older,” he explained, “and most of ‘em have moved away. Nicky’s still nearby-- he has a wife, but no kids.” He started counting off on his fingers. “Then there’s Finny teachin’ at a college upstate, Billy in the military, Vick in jail, Ronnie who owns a bar, Tony who’s a stay-at-home dad now, and Donnie wit’ his garage.”

“Gracious. Your mother is a...  _ tenacious  _ woman.”

“That’s one way’a puttin’ it,” Jeremy agreed with a snort. “She just... has a habit of hookin’ up with the wrong kind’a guy, you know? An’ she thinks it’s gonna last, an’ they end up hurtin’ her.” He frowned into his juice. “I try to tell her, but she don’ listen.” A few moments passed, then the boy looked up from his drink with his smile back in place. “But yeah. Eight boys. Two of ‘em are twins, too. Lord knows we didn’t make it easy for her, neither.”

“I’d imagine,” Doc said with a laugh. “Children are hellions when they  _ aren’t  _ in a pack like yours.”

“Plus we had all that energy holed up in a lil apartment in the city,” Jeremy added. “She’s a good Ma, though. Always tried real hard for us.” He trailed off, then seemed to remember something. “Hey, can I ask you questions back?”

“Sure, I suppose, though I can’t always promise you answers.” Jeremy frowned, and Doc shrugged. “I’m sure there are things you wouldn’t tell me, aren’t there?”

“...Alright, that’s fair, I guess. But, uh, howcome you got so much time to hang around me?”

Doc hesitated for a long time. “How do you mean?”

“Like, you got other patients, donchu? Shouldn’t you be, like, busy?”

“Well...” He hummed. “The short answer is, ah, no? You remember how nice the cancer wing was, yes?” Jeremy nodded. “Well, that’s this hospital’s specialty. Cancer. Specifically, bone cancer, as well as bone and blood diseases such as sickle cell. People come to this hospital from around the world to seek treatment for these things. But I’m a trauma surgeon, with a specialty in reconstruction and orthopedic. And I’m not the only trauma surgeon, so it’s sort of like we’re sharing the few trauma patients among us, and most are in and out...

"Plus, I like you. You have a lot of..." He continued, idly motioning with his hand as he searched for the right word. "Spirit." 

Jeremy had a light dusting of a blush across his cheeks, and though he didn’t betray the fact that he noticed it, Doc thought it brought out the light freckles on his cheeks very nicely. 

The Doc looked at him seriously, but with a softness in his features. “I want to help you find your spirit again.”

Jeremy was quiet for a while, staring at his empty tray. He didn’t look up when he spoke again. “...Sorry, Doc. My...  _ spirit...  _ was running. Running was what I did, it was what made me happy. But now I can’t even  _ walk _ . Maybe we could make prosthetics work, but just one pair, not enough to have them sporty ones, you know? So it’s just... over.” He shrugged, then looked up at the Doctor, a weak smile on his face, his eyes dull. “Sometimes I think it’d be better if... I dunno. Ma’s in all this debt. I don’t really got anything, now. I just wish everything had happened different... Maybe Ma’d be good with seven kids.” 

With that, he rolled his chair back from the table, grabbed his tray and clumsily rolled his way over to the trash can. Doc sighed, leaning his cheek on his hand and his elbow on the table. He pushed his fries around on his tray with a plastic fork, thoughtful.

Only a few moments passed before he saw Jeremy wheeling back over to his table. “Uh, that would’a been a cool exit and all, but I don’t actually know how to get back to my room from here. So, uh. If you could...” He scratched the back of his neck. 

Doc smiled and stood with a nod. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary song lyrics from “Conqueror” by AURORA.


	4. Review the Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how i wish you could see the potential, the potential of me and you. its like a book elegantly bound, but in a language that you can't read just yet.
> 
> Dr. Ludwig takes a personal day.

Jeremy learned how to heft himself into and out of the wheelchair on his own within the week. He was a talkative boy, and once he got out and around the hospital, he was immediately well-known. The nurses all greeted him when he rolled by, the other patients stopped to talk to him. He was almost starting to seem normal.

The Doctor visited him every day, though, and he saw the truth. Out with the others, he smiled--but they never reached his eyes, or showed his buck teeth. He laughed, and chatted, but his eyes were dull. And back in his room, Jeremy didn’t put on the front at all. He just seemed to be… existing. It was depressing to see. This boy, whose body was fine-tuned to run and jump and laugh and live, who was confined to a hospital bed without any will to do anything more than be.

It was… strange. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like this--people oftentimes lost more than limbs when things like this happened. It wasn’t abnormal. But something about Jeremy--about the glimpses of happiness he did see in the boy, the sparkle in his eye replaced by an emptiness in his voice… Dr. Ludwig even found himself thinking about it after he went home for the night.

This boy who was stuck on his mind, who was so worried about his mother and didn’t even want to think about the possible solutions for fear of finances… He hung his jacket on the hook by the door of his apartment, flopping himself down on the couch with a humph. Stupid boy with his stupid cute freckles and his stupid sad eyes. He was tired. The next day was his first day off in… well, too long. He’d been putting in overtime lately, but losing sleep over this kid wasn’t good doctor behavior, so maybe some time away would help. He should go out tomorrow. With someone his age. Maybe drinking. His doves cooed at him quietly from their chosen perches, one in the open door of their handmade bird cage and the other somewhere hidden in the knickknacks on his shelves.

Rolling off the couch, he loped into his little kitchen, grabbing the address book by his phone and flipping through. Dell was a possibility, but he wasn’t really fun to drink with, more like… someone to start projects with, or to talk to about all the experiments he wasn’t allowed to do anymore. Emile was even less fun, the weepy drunk he was. Jane and Misha both drew a little too much attention… Mundy hated crowds. Tavish and Charlotte? Tav was always a good time, and maybe Charlotte could help him sort out his thoughts.

He set a teapot brewing on the stove as he dialed the phone.

“Aye, Degroot Construction and Demolition, how can I help ya?”

Dr. Ludwig pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reached up and rifled through his teas. Mostly herbal. He had lavender in here the other day, didn’t he? “Hello, Tavish. Sorry, I thought this was your personal number?”

Tavish made a noise of amusement in the back of his throat. “Konrad! That you, lad?” The Doctor was almost surprised to hear his first name. It had been so long since he’d been anything but _Dr. Ludwig_ to people. “How ya been, Doc? It’s been--How long’s it been, now?”

“I don’t know, Tav. A few months?”

“Months! _Months_ , Konnie! I was startin’ to think you’d forgotten me!”

Konrad rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Do you and Charlotte want to go out drinking tomorrow evening?”

“Right to the point as always,” Tavish said with a laugh. “Yeah, I think we’re free. Darlin! We free tomorrow night?” The Doctor rolled his eyes as his friend yelled to his wife, leaning the phone away from his ear. “Yeah! It’s the Mad Doc! No, he jus’ wants ta catch up! Yeah, Doc, we’re good. Meet you at eight?”

“Sounds good, Tavish. See you then.”  Konrad set his phone back in the cradle just as his evening tea whistled. It was only nine now, but he didn’t really have much else to do besides put on his slippers and sip his tea.

Well, a calm evening would do him good, he supposed as he dropped his lavender teabag into the mug.

 

\--

 

Tavish’s laugh was loud and obnoxious, and it boomed through the small tavern they’d chosen a table in. Konrad and Charlotte laughed along, seeming not to notice. They were used to the Scot’s general volume level.

The tavern they were in was small, but homey. The walls and floor were both wood, accented with deep red fabrics and warm fire-like lighting. It was cozy, and homey, and they served german import ale, so it was the Doctor’s usual go-to bar. It wasn’t busy at 8 PM on a Thursday, but there were a few groups of patrons who looked up at Tavish’s booming voice, faces ranging from amused to irritated.

Konrad looked over to Charlotte with a smile while her husband wiped a tear away from his eye. “So, how’s the flower shop going?”

“Hm? Oh! Really good,” she hummed, kicking her feet under the table. The tall barstool had her feet skimming the floor, while both the boys’ feet were flat on the ground. “Business is pretty steady. Should start picking up again for Easter soon.”

“Oh, is that coming up? I don’t--”

“You don’t celebrate it, I know.” She gave a little giggle. “Honestly, the in at the hospital you gave me is really helping keep the shop afloat. There’s such long gaps without flowery holidays, you know, and people don’t just buy them to buy them any more…”

Konrad waved a hand. “It was nothing. Goodness knows, the hospital can afford to buy a few flowers for each room. Brighten up the place a bit.”

“Idn’at the family’s job?” Tavish asked, an eyebrow raised. “I mean, not that I’m _complaining_ about you givin’ us a li’l more work, but…”

“Well,” the Doctor chuckled, “not all of them have family to send flowers. And not all the families think to send flowers, especially for a short stay…” He started to fiddle with his fingers as his mind wandered back to his patients. Back to Jeremy.

“Are you _really_ still wearing that thing, Konrad?”

He raised an eyebrow, following her gaze to his hand. Or, more specifically, the gold band he’d been spinning on his left ring finger.

“Oh! Yes. People trust married doctors more, for some reason.” He shrugged, consciously leaving the ring alone and wrapping his hand back around his class. “Plus, I mean, I bought the damned thing. I might as well get some use out of it.”

“How are you going to find a husband like that?” Charlotte tsked.

“She’s right, Lad,” Tavish hummed, mood immediately sobered. “We’re the only ones of our friends who are married. You gotta join the club one of these days.”

Konrad rolled his eyes. “ _Please_. As if I even have time for a relationship with my work schedule, much less the motivation or venue to find one.”

“I don’t know, Konnie,” Charlotte said with a swirl of her wine. “You never ask to hang out with us unless you have something on your mind.”

Konrad made a noise in the back of his throat, taking a deep sip of his beer. Charlotte grinned smugly.

“That grin is why I divorced you,” Konrad grumbled.

“I thought this grin is why ye divorced,” Tavish piped in with a cheeky smile, pointing at his own face. Charlotte giggled and kissed his cheek.

“Ach, please. You are free to live your heterosexual lifestyle behind closed doors but there is no need to flaunt it,” Konrad teased, waving a hand. Tavish laughed boisterously again, and both his companions smiled.

Charlotte took Konrad by the hand and squeezed it. “I’m serious though, Kon. If you ever want to talk about something, I’m here to listen.”

“And I’m here to buy the next round,” Tavish added, waving the bartender over to refill their drinks.

“I appreciate it,” the Doctor sighed, looking down into his glass. “It’s just a patient at the hospital. He’s on my mind a bit more than I’m used to.”

“Is ‘e cute?” Tavish wheedled.

“Oh, please. He is my _patient_.” Konrad sniffed. “He is a boy who lost his legs. Both of them. He was an athlete, and so passionate about it, but…”

“Well, he can get prosthetics, right?” Charlotte cocked her head.

“Says he cannot afford it. Which isn’t unusual, you know, it happens all the time. But something about him is stuck with me for some reason, something… haunting?” He shook his head, sighing. “His buck-tooth smile, his little freckles... his eyes, especially. So sad.”

“Sounds a little cute,” Tavish mumbled.

“Maybe you feel a little _unprofessional_ about him,” Charlotte suggested. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-five, too old to still be calling a _boy_. He has a childishness about him, though, when I can get him out of his depressive funks.”

“A little young,” Charlotte conceded, “but not _too_ young.”

“You two are incorrigible,” Konrad huffed, subconsciously puffing up a little. “I’m probably just tired. And I don’t have too many patients in the hospital for as long as he has been…”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Tavish said with a laugh, throwing back a long swig of his whiskey.

“Speaking of prosthetics, Tavish, my offer for you is still open.” The Doctor motioned to Tavish’s eyepatch, the gears turning in his head visible on his face. “With a few supplies from the hospital, a few favors from the prosthesis expert, and some work with Dell…”

“Noooo, I said it before and I said it again, Doc, that’s bad juju. Lost this eye outta my own stupidity, can’t go playin’ god to get it back. Plus, knowin’ you an’ Dell, I’d fall asleep just missin’ an eye, and wake up with robo-hands or some shite.”

Konrad laughed, deep from his gut, and felt a little bit lighter. “I hardly think robotics and biology is playing god, but whatever you wish, my friend.”

“I like his eyepatch,” Charlotte commented. “I think it’s cute.”

“Aww, thanks, Darl’. I think you’re cute, too.”

“ _Ugh_.”

They both laughed at Konrad’s distaste, and he couldn’t help but smile too.

 

\--

 

Konrad was probably drunk when he got home. He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t _smashed_ drunk, but he was a little wobbly, and some of his thoughts wouldn’t translate from German. It felt good, though. One of his birds settled on his head while he leaned against his closed front door. He wasn’t sure which one it was until it pecked at the curl of hair on his forehead.

“Guten Abend, Euclid,” he hummed, and the bird cooed. “Are you hungry? Daddy ist sorry. I missed dinner time.” Archimedes cooed from across the room at the word _dinner_ , and Konrad chuckled.

He pushed himself off the door and walked towards the birds’ setup. They had a cage, but it wasn’t big enough for them both to live in full-time, so they really only went in there when Konrad had company. He really ought to get a bigger cage for them, he knew, but he liked the one he’d made so much he’d brought it from all the way from Germany.

Under the cage, which hung from the ceiling, there was a little end table with drawers full of bird supplies. The food was in the second, and he took it out with the two little bowls they ate out of and poured some in. Probably too much. Oh well. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Charlotte and Tavish had said.

Surely, they were just being foolish drunkards. There was no way he could--what, _date_ the boy? Absurd. Jeremy was a _patient_ . And a young one, at that. Konrad was _forty-nine_ years old, for christ’s sake. Even if he _was_ acquiring an unprofessional affection for a patient--which he wasn’t--there was no way Jeremy would reciprocate. Surely, the boy would rather date someone his own age, and probably female at that.

The birds pecked at his hands as he thought, so he placed their bowls on the table for them to eat and wandered into his kitchen. He started making tea again out of habit. What _did_ he feel for the boy? More than pity. Pity he was used to. No, this time he wanted to do something about it, wanted to make Jeremy smile and laugh. Wanted to see that sparkle in his eyes, wanted to bring a light flush to his freckled cheeks.

...Fuck.

Well, obviously, he couldn’t _pursue_ anything with him, but at least he could do his best to make the boy happy while he was around. Talking about Tavish’s proposed eye plans got him thinking about other people he could get prosthetics for, after all. God knows, he could afford it. He lived in a little one-bedroom apartment for his own comfort, not because his _doctor’s salary_ couldn’t _afford_ it. He walked or biked more than he drove, so no fancy cars for him. The most expensive thing he indulged in was imported beers, honestly, or his vests. He could buy Jeremy ten pairs of prosthetics, if he wanted to. He had a feeling the boy wouldn’t be terribly receptive to charity, though. Maybe he could make Jeremy something cool with Dell, and pass it off as an experimental prototype he had to get rid of?

The teapot’s whistle startled him out of his thoughts, and he selected a ginger tea to steep in the water. His stomach was starting to react to the alcohol in it, and the scent of ginger was already starting to calm it.

Perhaps he’d call Dell in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary lyrics from "I will possess your heart" by death cab for cutie.
> 
> I think it's a more realistic schedule to expect an update every other week, but we'll see. School started, and all that.  
> Also, thanks again for commenting. I know everyone says it, but I get, like, teary eyed about that shit, y'all.


	5. Second Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one hundred million reasons to ignore of wanting to be with you. one hundred million eyes behind these walls, watching you, hearing you, knowing you.
> 
> Dell and Konrad build legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember weekly updates?  
> Me neither.

“Well, you certainly came prepared, Doc.” Dell chuckled a bit as Konrad unloaded an inconspicuous sack into his garage. It was more workshop than garage, honestly, but it still looked like a garage on the outside. Konrad found himself wondering if Dell had a homeowner’s association or if he just kept his lawn and home so immaculate on the outside for the fun of it. He made a mental note to ask later. Dell’s hand prosthetic made a metallic clunk when he rested it on the worktable beside him and shifted his weight to lean on it. “Whatcha got in there, anyhow? You know I got supplies here.”

“Legs,” Konrad answered. He left it at that, leaving the garage again to lock up his car.

“...Of course it is,” Dell sighed, glancing down at the bag and eyeing the molds and other supplies Konrad had... _borrowed_ from the hospital.

By now, the hospital seemed to be used to Konrad lifting things every now and again. He’d gotten scolded the first few times, but with his skill he was hard to replace, so they always let him off with a warning. Besides, it was only small supplies and such, and anything that would cost them over fifty bucks to replace was returned the next day.

Well, either they were used to it or they’d funneled so much of the amputee ward’s funds over to cancer research that they didn’t even notice anymore. Either way, it gave Konrad the freedom to snag a few things on his way out of the hospital that day--a sample running prosthetic and some molding plastic, for example.

He’d shouldered into Jeremy’s room without so much as a knock, a package of the clay-like plastic in hand. Jeremy had looked up, startled, but his face broke out into a smile after a moment’s hesitation. “Oh, hey, Doc. I thought you’d be gone for the day. What’s up?”

He visited the boy earlier in the day, as well, but neither of them had much to say. He wanted to keep his ideas quiet until he got to test them, after all. “I came to measure your legs, actually,” he’d said, holding up the molding plastic with a smile.

“--Measure them?” Jeremy’d raised an eyebrow, his nose wrinkled. It was really cute. Konrad almost rolled his eyes at that thought. Stupid cute patient. “What are you measurin’ for?”

“Well...” Shit, he hadn’t thought this one through. “Well, we want to monitor their size so we can keep on top of any swelling or bone loss that occurs. We make a mold today, and if you come back for a check-up in a month and it doesn’t fit, we know something has changed.”

“...Alright, I guess. Go at it, Doc.”

Konrad had stayed at the hospital for about an hour more, forming a cast mold of Jeremy’s legs, more or less. He took the impressions of the boy’s nubs and filled them with fiberglass, then he sort of... sculpted the rest of the calf and knee freehand. He did a bit of the thigh, too, since one leg didn’t have any calf or knee. That way they were even. When he was done, the longer was about the length of his forearm. Then, in the sack they went, and off to Dell’s place.

Konrad launched into explanation as soon as he came back into the workshop, cutting Dell off before he could speak. “So--You remember what we discussed on the phone, yes?”

“Yep. New legs for a runner, right?”

“Right. He’s a young man, around twenty-five, and he can’t afford to get running blades from the hospital. But he’s also too proud to take a pair I bought for him, so I figured we could make something cool, and tell him it’s an experimental pair or something?” Konrad shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Worst case scenario, we’ve made something cool.”

Dell raised an eyebrow, frowning. “Have you even offered him the freebies, Doc? You’re jumping to a lotta conclusions, here.”

Well, he wasn’t, actually. Dell was partially right, though, in knowing that he hadn’t actually offered, but he’d... well. A few weeks ago he’d sort of... overheard. Eavesdropped. Whatever. On a conversation about the same thing.

“No, Ma.” Konrad had stopped outside the door of Jeremy’s room, frowning. He hadn’t seen the boy’s mother come in, but he could hear Jeremy talking to her... he’d hesitated, hand hovering where he was about to knock. Jeremy sounded... sort of upset.

“No, Ma, we can’t afford ‘em.” Well, her voice wasn’t answering back--oh, wait. The boy had his cell phone now. He _technically_ wasn’t supposed to use it for calls, but no one really followed that policy in Konrad’s department any more. Perhaps his dislike of texting was old-fashioned, but it just felt impersonal. “I know. He said the hospital could make a payment plan, but we already have bills and monthly payments on the cards...”

There was another pause of the boy’s mother speaking, and Konrad let his hand fall. He had a feeling he knew what Jeremy was talking about, but it’s not good to assume, he figured.

“I’m not gonna ask the guy for freebies! God. I mean, yeah, I know he’s nice, and--Yeah. I know. He’s already done so much, though.” Jeremy definitely sounded upset, now. His voice wavered a little, and Konrad hated it. “Plus, I don’t want him to think--” Jeremy sighed heavily. “I know. I’ll figure somethin’ out. Hell, maybe I’ll get some sticks and make fuckin’ peg legs.”

Well, suspicion confirmed.

“Sorry, Ma. Yeah, yeah, language. Maybe I’ll start saving and can get some in a few years. ‘Til then, wheelchairs and crutches should be fine.”

Konrad waved a hand at Dell dismissively as his thoughts returned to the present topic.

“Oh please. I _know_ him. He barely even accepted help getting into a _wheelchair_ the first time.”

“You _know_ him, do ya?” Metal fingers rapped unnervingly against the metal table as Dell’s eyes bored into the Doctor. “I gotta ask, Konrad, what makes this guy different? You see patients all the time who can’t get fancy prosthetics. It ain’t often you offer hand-outs, much less come knockin’ at _my_ door...”

Konrad’s face flushed. “Look, Dell, I... Don’t have an answer for you. I don’t know. There’s something about him that’s different, though.”

“Different, huh.”

“Running is what he _does_ , I can’t let him leave without some way to keep doing that. It’s what he loves.” Konrad wrung his hands. “I don’t know what you’re implying here, Dell, but I honestly just want to help him.”

“Hm.” Dell didn’t seem convinced, but he pushed off the table nonetheless and walked over to Konrad’s supply sack. “Well, alright. I take it you’ve got some kind of ideas in mind?”

“Oh! Yes. I don’t know how workable they are, though.” Konrad scurried by him, reaching into the bag to pull out the average running prosthetic. “This is a normal running blade, of course. I think it would be neat if there was some way to put this design and a normal looking leg design into one, and have it able to switch back and forth, perhaps at the push of a button. But, ah, the more pressing concern I suppose would be that one of his legs is cut off above the knee. I know we have artificial joints on these devices already, but if there was some way to make them more natural...”

 

\--

 

“So, tell me more about this boy.”

“--Huh?” Konrad looked up. They were in Dell’s kitchen, now, taking a break from blueprinting. The engineer was doing most of the work, but a doctor’s perspective was helpful with some things--the weight distribution, or movement of a flesh-and-blood leg they were trying to emulate, for example. Dell was at the stove, making him some kind of drink that he’d offered in place of tea, since all he had was the weird American iced kind. A long, gray dog was wound between his legs, wrinkled face upturned towards whatever his owner was cooking. Konrad was familiar with Bessie, though maybe not fond--the dog was a fountain of slobber, even when she _didn’t_ think food was involved. When she did, well...

“Tell me about ‘im. You said you _know_ the boy, so...”

“Oh. Well. Hm.” Konrad looked down at his hands on the table, thinking. Conjuring up an image of Jeremy in his mind. “Well, he’s from Boston.”

“Obviously.” Dell stirred a spoon in the pot. His house was about two hours’ drive outside of Boston, where the hospital was. Most patients were from the city itself.

“Well, yes. I suppose. He was in a car accident--”

“And lost his legs.” He paused stirring to grab a few mugs, and to spare Bessie a few head pats.

The way Dell shot Konrad down without even turning around made him a little uneasy. He took a breath and started again. “He has seven brothers. None of them have ever stopped by. His mother used to come by daily--a lovely woman, loud and energetic, even if she was a bit subdued while her son was in the hospital.” Dell nodded, still not looking back. “Jeremy has that same energy in him, in his eyes, but it’s... dull, now. I just want to fix it.”

Dell turned around, then, and considered him silently. Konrad immediately got a sense that he’d dwelled on this trait a bit too long, and quickly moved on.

“He likes baseball. The Red Socks, obviously. I’ve watched a few games with him, but I don’t really see the draw in it... “ Dell turned again and started pouring something brown into the mugs. “He doesn’t think he’s too smart, but he picks things up quick. What is this?” He asked the last bit as Dell placed a mug between his hands, full of steaming brown liquid.

“Conagher family recipe,” Dell explained, sitting in the chair across from him. There was a familiar look on his face, with his eyes far away and brows drawn together, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“What are you thinking about, Dell?” Konrad could always tell Dell was working something over in his mind from the look on his face. “We’re on a break, you know,” he scolded.

“Nothin’, nothin’.” Dell sipped from his mug, shrugging. “Just... thinking.”

Konrad still had a vague feeling of unease from Dell’s expression, but he also knew that if the man didn’t want to share, he’d pipe up tighter than anyone. They’d known each other since college, after all, and that was, what, nearly twenty years ago now? So he turned his focus to the warm drink puffing steam between his wide palms.

He took a sip, and the taste of chocolate spread across his tongue.  Hot chocolate, then.  For some reason he was expecting something fancy.  Well, he wasn’t going to complain. But the aftertaste was... weird.  Sort of burning, actually.  He looked down to the mug again, brows furrowed, and noticed a few little flecks of red in the swirling brown surface.  He took another sip to cool his mouth, forgetting that the drink was what had set it on fire in the first place, and looked up at Dell, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Catches you off guard at first, huh? Secret ingredient’s a splash of chili powder.”

After the first shock, it wasn’t _too_ spicy, just a slightly uncomfortable burn, and it did give his stomach a nice warm feeling stronger than average hot cocoa. Still. “You could’ve told me _first_ ,” Konrad scolded.

“This way’s more fun.”

Konrad rolled his eyes and chuckled at his friend. Even if he was being weird, Dell was still Dell, after all. “It’s good, ambush-spice aside.”

“Well, thank you, Doc. And this Jeremy boy sounds like a nice kid. Hopefully we can do ‘im some good and get ‘im runnin’ again. Can’t let his team lose a member, right?”

“Yeah,” Konrad agreed with a nod. He sort of wanted to object that Jeremy wasn’t a kid, really, and also it’s more than just running, it’s his smile and his laugh and--

Well, no, it isn’t, is it? They’re just doing it so Jeremy can run with his friends again. That’s all.

Yes. That was all.

 

\--

 

Konrad came back on his next day off about a week later, where he found Dell had already started working on scale-model prototypes. His goggles were over his eyes as he knocked a tool around inside the little model, which looked to be about six inches long. The dog, Bessie, was there again, in a bed next to Dell’s desk, with a new one in a matching bed on the other side. This one was leaner, with less skin and less gray fur.

“When did you get another dog?”

Dell jumped, spinning his chair around and pointing a screwdriver in Konrad’s direction. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me, boy?” The noise seemed to wake the new dog, who picked his head up and cocked it. Bessie kept sleeping.

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was just walking. Quietly. Without saying words.” Dell rolled his eyes. “When did you get another dog?”

“Didn’t you meet Cooper last time you were here?” The dog stood and moved over to sniff Konrad. The doctor tried not to flinch away from the dog, but did raise his eyebrow at the robotic front leg the pooch sported. “Well, I needed a new hunting dog, and Coop here needed a new leg, so...”

“Ah.” Konrad nodded, taking a seat on the stool Dell kept for guests. Or, rather, for him, mostly. Their mutual friends didn’t seem interested in these sorts of things, at least. Maybe he had other, nerdier friends. The dog trotted back over to Dell. “I suppose fate brought you together, as it were.”

“Or the animal shelter,” Dell agreed. Well, sort of agreed. He patted the dog’s head fondly before turning back to his tinkering. “Anyway, I just have a few more wires to solder here, and then I’ll show you what I’ve been workin’ on. I figure once we get it working in a small scale, we can work out the bugs easier, then scale up.”

“Makes sense.”

They lapsed into companionable silence after that, Dell fiddling with wires and metal while Konrad watched his thick, rough fingers manipulate delicate parts and connections. It always impressed him how dexterous Dell’s hands were. While his palms were wide and his fingers long, Dell’s were short and stubby, scarred and callused, but somehow they could perform tasks that he’d just thumb through.

Of course, Konrad could perform surgery that Dell would probably be lost through.

...Actually, Dell could probably figure surgery out, if he wanted to. Damn engineering brain could somehow turn anything into a machine, then fix it.

Anyway, Dell’s hands were impressive, but they weren’t... _nice_. He thought his hands were fairly nice, always clean and smooth with perfectly trimmed nails, but really, they could be thinner, more lithe... long, thin fingers, smooth palms, nails chewed down to nubs...

“ _Konrad_.” The doctor realised he’d been staring at his hands, and that Dell had been trying to get his attention for... well, apparently a while. “You spaced out on me, there.”

“Ha. Yes. I suppose I did. Apologies, my friend.”

“Something on your mind, Doc?”

“No, no, just... daydreaming.” His fingers brushed against one another, and he tried to forget the imagined feeling of Jeremy’s fingers in his. “What were you saying?”

“I was askin’ if this kid’s in physical therapy yet or not,” Dell answered as he turned back to his desk once again.

“Oh! Yes. He does some things with loaned prosthetics, in case he changes his mind about buying them. He also does some balance things and upper body exercises, in the case he needs to get around without any aid, or what-have-you.”

Dell hummed. “How’s he doin’? I mean, I know that stuff’s confidential, but we’re puttin’ experimental robotics on the kid, so...”

“Very well, actually!” Konrad almost beamed, as if Jeremy’s progress was his doing. “He’s very tenacious! He started it a little earlier than most, since he was so impatient to get out of bed and moving again. He does have a habit of pushing himself too hard, though.” He sighed, thinking about it. “He’ll go with such an intensity that he strains himself or rubs his residuum raw--or, uh, his. Residual limbs. You know?”

“His stumps.”

“Well--” Konrad huffed. “Yes. If you must call them that. Anyway, his balance and strength are impressive, if he sees it or not.”

“How do you mean, Doc?”

“Well, he’s frustrated with it. He pushes and pushes and goes too far, and then does not understand why his limits are different than they were before. He will fall on his crutches and seem so angry with himself... Hopeless, almost. Yet still, he persists. He doesn’t seem to believe he will ever walk normally again, but he keeps trying. It’s... remarkable. _He’s_ remarkable.”

He’d looked away from Dell again, eyes far away. Dell turned to face at him as he spoke, eyes narrow behind the amber glass of his goggles.

“Konrad,” he said, putting his tools down and pulling the goggles up to his forehead. “What _exactly_ are your intentions with this boy?”

“I--What?” Konrad startled out of his daydream, looking affronted. “I’ve been perfectly clear with my intentions! What are you getting at?”

“I’m starting to doubt your feelin’s for this kid are entirely professional, Doc,” Dell scolded, crossing his arms over his chest. “The way you talk about him, it... I’ve seen you do it before, Kon, and it ain’t platonic. That’s for damn sure.”

“I’m--I!” Konrad’s face was flushing redder as Dell spoke. “I’m! Offended by the implication! Dell!”

“I hope I’m wrong, here, Doc. You know as well as I do that it ain’t right.”

“Of course it isn’t!” He wasn’t sure why his chest was getting tight, or why he wanted to yell so much.

“He’s just a kid.”

“Well--No! He’s twenty-five!” Why was he arguing?

“And you’re nearly _fifty_!” Konrad’s mouth screwed closed, so Dell continued. “More importantly, he’s your _patient_ , Konrad! You know damn well _that ain’t right!_ ”

Konrad felt like he’d been holding his breath for this whole conversation. In his mind he knew Dell was right, and of course he didn’t have feelings for Jeremy, that would be stupid, but for some reason he still wanted to argue with Dell, and yell, and. Maybe slam his fist on the desk some. Or break some stuff But most of all, he wanted to leave the situation. He wanted to go.

Of those things, there was only one he could really do.

“ _I have to go_ ,” he said in a rush, standing up from his stool and turning on his heel to rush out of the workshop.

Dell watched him go with a sigh before turning back to the prototype. Might as well finish the thing. He wasn’t sure if Konrad would get this fool notion out of his head or not, and he hoped the doctor was smart enough to do so, but Dell couldn’t leave a project half-done.

Bessie picked up her head when Konrad’s engine roared to life, and Dell reached his flesh hand down to pat her head. Dogs were simple, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could give you excuses about school and projects and shit but it all boils down to: i will not abandon this fic if its the last thing I do
> 
> that said, it's my last year of college. busy busy.
> 
> also, we've now hit 25 pages on the google doc, here. it's getting to be a bear to load. i've never written anything this long before.
> 
> description lyrics from "keep me a secret" by Ainslie Henderson.
> 
> sorry if you're following the tag or whatever and these, like, notify a billion times. i gotta make a billion edits w every post for some reason


	6. Doctor the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> make your choice, adventurous stranger; strike the bell and bide the danger, or wonder, till it drives you mad, what would have followed if you had.
> 
> Jeremy is bored, and he notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, remember this fic? it's been... three months. I got distracted by school and then some health stuff, but I'm better now and I hope to be better on updating stuff.
> 
> this chapter is beta'd but, uh, a little less so than usual. I wanted to get it out since it's been so long, you know. It's also a little short. sorry ;v;a

Jeremy was  _ bored _ .  Well, he was a lot of things--tired, antsy, hungry--but mostly, he was bored.  His Ma’d stopped coming by to visit every day, since she had to start working again, which was fine, but it gave him even less to look forward to every day.  There was a little TV in the corner of the room, but after weeks of daytime television, he’d really stopped even wanting it on.  Usually he was so easy to entertain, but being confined to a bed really knocked out most of his usual choices.

There was one thing he could look forward to every day, though, and that was Dr. Ludwig’s visits.  He’d come every morning around ten with a clipboard to check on his progress healing, and ask how he was doing and all that.  That was fine, and he usually joked around with the Doctor some then, but he had to scurry out and attend to other patients so it wasn’t too much of a social call.  Most days, though, the Doc would come back later in the day--sometimes with food, or a card game, or what-have-you.  That’s what Jeremy looked forward to.

“Yo Doc,” he started one afternoon after three rounds of crazy eight’s, “what do you do for fun?  Like, when you get off work?”

The doctor hummed as he placed a queen on the pile.  “I don’t know, nothing exciting.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Jeremy drew a card, then immediately flipped it onto the pile.  “We talk about me all the time, but I don’t know nothin’ about you.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” he relented, “but I legitimately don’t do anything you would be interested in.  I read a lot.  Sometimes I go out for a drink with friends, or get together for a few games.”

Jeremy watched him place another queen on the pile and frowned.  How many queens did he have over there?  “What kind of games?”

Dr. Ludwig shrugged as his patient drew yet another card.  “Chess, sometimes poker.”

“Poker?  I’ve always wanted to learn poker.  You should teach me!”

The Doc rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you are losing.”

“Nuh-uh.”  A crooked smile tugged at Jeremy’s lips, and the Doctor couldn’t help but chuckle a little as well.

“Alright, alright.” He glanced at his watch as he laid his last card--an eight--onto the pile. “I’ve already destroyed you at this game anyway.  Tomorrow I will start to teach you poker.”  Jeremy’s frown directed at the eight card turned into a grin pointed towards the doctor.  “But for now, I need to go act like I am still doing work.”  He pushed the cards into one messy pile and towards Jeremy as he stood. 

“Aw, already?”

“Ja, already. I’ll be back tomorrow,” the Doctor said with a smile, reaching over to ruffle Jeremy’s hair.  Jeremy scrunched up his face at that, but really, he didn’t mind it.  When his ma did it, it was embarrassing, but for some reason he didn’t mind the Doc’s big warm hands in his hair.

He shuffled the cards over and over again until the physical therapy nurse came to get him, occasionally spreading them across his tray table for a game of solitaire.  He made a tower of cards once, but when it fell over collecting all the cards again without falling out of bed proved difficult.  He managed to get them all, but the idea of doing it again and needing to ask the doctor to retrieve a card from under the bed felt so embarrassing that he just gave up on it.

 

\--

 

A few days later, the Doctor’s knock startled Jeremy awake.  He gave the Doc a sleepy smile and wave when he walked in, which he returned with a bit of hesitance.

“Hey Ludwig, what’s up?”

“Lud--Oh. You know that’s not my name, right?”

Jeremy blinked. “What? Yeah, you told me it was. Doctor Ludwig.”

“Well, I mean, yes, but it’s my last name.” The doctor sat in his usual stool by Jeremy’s bed while the boy blinked owlishly at him.

“Your  _ last name _ is Ludwig?” The Doctor nodded.  “Ludwig is a first name.”

“For some people, yes.  But it’s  _ my  _ last name.”

“So what’s your first name?”

The doctor considered for a moment, as if debating on telling.  Eventually he gave in.  “Konrad.  Were you sleeping when I came in?”

“...Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess.”  Jeremy shrugged.  “Konrad Ludwig.  That’s a weird name, you know?”

“It’s Von Ludwig, actually, but that always felt too lengthy for a title.  You were sleeping the first time I came in yesterday, too, you know, but you didn’t wake up so I left.”

“Konrad Von Ludwig?  Dude, that sounds like a villain’s name.  You’re not a mad doctor, are you?”

“You only think that because all American movies make the villains German,” Ludwig--No,  _ Konrad _ \--dismissed with a snort.  “You’ve been sleeping an awful lot lately.”

“Yeah, well, I’m healin’.  Plus there isn’t much else to do,” Jeremy added with a huff.  

“You have a television.  How much would you say you sleep in a day?”

“Fuck, I dunno.  Sittin’ here watchin’ soap operas all day is worse than sleepin’, though.”

Konrad hummed again.  He seemed to hum whenever Jeremy presented him with something he didn’t approve of, so Jeremy frowned.  It also made a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that wasn’t usually there.  Which, well, he didn’t have much of any wrinkles to speak of.  The only real sign of his age was the little bit of silver in his hair...

“It’s not healthy to be sleeping all day, you know.”  Jeremy blinked, focusing back in on the Doctor’s words.  “I mean, a bit more than usual, perhaps, what with the energy healing takes, but... perhaps we can find something else to occupy your time.”

“I mean, there ain’t much else, Doc.  I can’t  _ move _ .”

“I will find you something,” Konrad said as he stood, hand ruffling Jeremy’s hair again.  He was starting to associate Konrad’s hand in his hair with the Doctor leaving, which made him a little sad.  Which was dumb.  But it still felt nice.

“M’kay.”

 

\--

 

The very next day, Konrad came back with a small pile of books.

“Books?”

“Books, yes.  I wasn’t sure what sort of books you’d like, so I brought a few.”

“Generally none,” Jeremy mumbled.

Konrad plopped the pile down on the tray table with an eye roll.  Jeremy watched his hands brush lovingly over the cover of the top book and almost smiled.  His eye caught something, though--something that caught the light.  “Oh, come on.  You need to find a hobby you can do from bed, and this is one I had on hand.  Unless you’d rather I teach you to sew.”

“You sew?”

“A little.  Now come on, just give them a try.  Please?”  Konrad cocked his head to the side a bit, and Jeremy couldn’t deny a face like that.

“Alright, alright.” He pulled the tray table a little closer to look through them.  The top of the pile was  _ The Hobbit _ .  “The movie for this one sort of dragged on forever...”

“They made movies of  _ The Hobbit _ ?”

“Uh... yeah.”  He set that one aside to look at the next-- _ Inkheart _ .  The paperback cover clearly had some age to it.

“That one was originally written in German.  I got it in English to help learn it years and years ago.”

Jeremy nodded.  That was actually really interesting, he thought, but without any response he just moved on to look at the next one.

“Actually, Doc, I’ve read this one,” he pointed out, handing over  _ The Great Gatsby _ . 

“Oh? I didn’t think you enjoyed reading.”

“I don’t.  It was for school.  Super boring.”

Konrad frowned.  “Consider rereading it.  Books are always boring when you have to take tests on them, but it’s really a very beautiful story.”  He handed the book back, and Jeremy added it to the pile, watching his hand closer this time--a simple gold band. A wedding ring.  Just like he’d thought.  He made a mental note to ask about it tomorrow.  For some reason, he didn’t like seeing it.

The last book on the stack had a big lion on the front, with the title written in cursive below it-- _ The Chronicles of Narnia _ .  “I’ve heard of this one,” Jeremy hummed, flipping through the pages.  “I never read it ‘cause it was so long.”

“I figured longer would be better, since you have plenty of time.  It’s not a difficult read, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I dunno if I trust your word on that, Doc, but I guess I can try it.”  He handed the other three back to Konrad with a smile, though it didn’t really feel genuine.  “Thanks.”

Konrad nodded, glancing around the room.  After a moment he set the remaining books down on the end table, shifting a vase of dead flowers to the side and collecting a few crumpled pudding cups.  “I will leave the others here for a while, in case you change your mind.”

Jeremy nodded, and his smile came a little closer to real as Konrad’s warm hand ruffled through his hair.

 

\--

 

  1. 460\.  461.  462.  46--



“Sir!”  Jeremy looked up at a frazzled nurse who’d burst through the door, an eyebrow raised.  She looked tired.  “ _ Please _ .  Stop bouncing that ball against the wall.  It’s... disturbing the other patients. ”

“Oh.”  He looked down at the superball in his hand, frowning.  “Sorry.  Can we, like, tack a pillow to the wall so it doesn’t make noise?  I wanna keep my arm... uh.”  He was about to say he needed to keep fit for baseball, but he’d never play baseball again, now would he?  “Never mind.”

The nurse’s shoulders relaxed a bit when she saw him throw the ball into the trash can.  That irritated him a little bit, too.  If it was Konrad, he would’ve noticed that he’d talked himself down again, but this nurse didn’t know him from any other patient.  

“Uh--”  He called out to her as she turned to leave, and she paused to hear what he had to say.  “Is Dr. Ludwig here today?  I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“Oh, no.  He’s off today.  Mentioned driving out to a friend’s place, I think.  Why, do you need him?”

_ Yes. _

“No, no, I was just wondering.”

The nurse smiled as she walked out, and Jeremy couldn’t help but resent her more.  He knew it wasn’t fair to hate her because Konrad wasn’t around, but... 

Was it stupid to miss the doctor?  No, he was probably just lonely.  Maybe if he called his Ma...  But really, he knew he didn’t want to call his Ma, or any of his brothers.  He didn’t want to talk to anybody, just... Doctor Konrad Von Ludwig, with his stupid name and his... mysterious secret wife.

Maybe he should just sleep again.  That’s really all he felt like doing.  Curling up in a ball and sleeping for six more hours.

But then, Konrad would probably be disappointed if he hadn’t started reading by the time he got back...

With a sigh, Jeremy picked up the heavy book and flipped it open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary quote is from The Magician's Nephew, the first of the Chronicles of Narnia. 
> 
> As always, hit me up on tumblr at onwednesdayswewritefics or handsomejackrussell. Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
